


Love; Defined

by jumponthechandelier



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Co-workers, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Forensic Scientist Reader, Introspection, It's the Tenderness..., Minor Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Soft Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumponthechandelier/pseuds/jumponthechandelier
Summary: Connor possesses the ability to recreate a crime scene from scattered evidence, analyze biological traces in mere seconds, imitate the vocal characterizations of whomever he comes across, match the most skilled fighters in hand-to-hand combat...But as he searched high and low, read thesis upon thesis, and stared into the glass pane of his desk wall with a furrowed brow, he found that there was something he couldn’t master. Something he couldn’t even begin to define.So he kept a list of what he thought this malfunction (feeling) was.And he tracked the events that caused all of this in the first place, taking note of the centralized cause in all of them:You.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader
Comments: 120
Kudos: 633





	1. To Care For

Illuminated by a small lamp and the multi-colored lights of scattered machinery, you impatiently tapped your nails against the cold metal of your desk, darkened eyes focused on the HPLC machine buzzing across the way.

You leaned back in your chair, legs crossed and vision wavering in and out as you pushed your nails to tap faster, _faster_ …

The sound it caused was irritating and sharp, ringing around the lab like an alarm that barely kept you from nodding off right then and there. You briefly paused your nervous tick to grab your phone, taking note of the time and message that seemed to glare up at you with some sort of contriteness.

**1:08AM**

_Message Received From: Hank Anderson, 11:37PM_

_Go the hell home, kid._

You blinked, tossing the offending device back onto the table with a loud _‘thud’,_ a tired sigh pushing past your lips. 

Hank’s constant on-point hunches, though convenient in calculating steps for an investigation, were nothing short of fucking annoying ~~when they involved you~~ in any other aspect. 

But this job was eating away at you like a disease, infiltrating your thought processes like nothing ever had, keeping you awake from dusk ‘till dawn for nearly 52 hours. The lab had now become your home, the detectives’ locker room your bathroom, and the coffee machine and the various empty take-out containers that surrounded it your kitchen. Besides the typical report write up and text reassurances that you were, indeed _alive,_ you remained alone, festering in your frustrations and exhaustion in silence.

**14 overdose deaths in 72 Hours.**

**5 Red Ice runners, 8 users.**

**And 1, seemingly impossible,** **_android_** **.**

There was a tainted supply laying in waiting _somewhere_ , and finding it wasn’t exactly your job, but figuring out what the fuck is wrong with it _was._

Was it a slip-up of the maker? Or an intentional grab to wipe out not only a supplier’s reputation, but their whole operation? What had tipped the scale?

_What had gone wrong?_

The beep of the HPLC sent you jolting out of your seat, joints popping as you stumbled over to the machine with a movement that resembled a drunkard stumbling out of Jimmy’s Bar. You focused your vision on the analysis that popped onto the small screen, sucking in a sharp breath as you glanced over its components.

_Acetone. Lithium. Thirium. Toluene. Hydrochloric Acid. And-_

**_*ERROR - SUBSTANCE UNKNOWN*_ **

You cursed, **loudly** , your hand reaching out to smack a nearby coffee cup off of the counter so forcefully it flew across the room, shattering upon impact with the white tiled floor. You leaned onto the surface, your shaking hands coming up to cradle your head.

You had broken down the sample so many times over the past two days, breaking it apart with a precision close to a machine, compared it with every substance you had on hand and yet _you still failed._

There was something so lethal in it that whoever forced the drug onto the non-deviant android killed it. A drug meant for intentional use by a human _fried the insides of an innocent being_. 

You heard your name, called gently by a voice you had come to know well these past few months. Soft footsteps, another roll of your name off of his tongue, but you didn’t move. Too ashamed of your disheveled state, you could only mumble a half-hearted reply that was mostly muffled behind your hands.

“Stop scanning me, Connor.”

You knew he was doing it, your suspicions confirmed when you finally looked up to see the flashing of his blue LED come to a grinding halt.

For a split second, his brows creased in something akin to concern before they settled.

“Sleep deprivation tends to set in after 24 hours, and if I’m correct, you are well past that.”

“Connor, I-”

“If you continue this, your cognitive performance will continue to deplete and hallucinations will begin. Your shaking hands and enlarged pupils are also indications of caffeine-”

You quickly straightened up, hands crossing over your chest as you said his name, the sound of it a little harsher than you liked. His LED briefly turned yellow, and guilt settled in your stomach.

A beat of silence and you turned away, grabbing at nearby paper towels to begin cleaning up your mess. You moved past him without a glance, crouching down to soak up spilled caffeine and to gather ceramic shards. You spoke, quietly, as you tried your best not to look his way.

“...Did Hank send you?”

Connor bent down across from you, hand shooting out to gently push yours away from picking up what was left of that poor DPD mug.

“There is a twenty-one percent chance you’ll cut yourself. I’ll take care of it.”

Your eyes watched him swiftly gather the pieces and toss them into the trash, his hand gingerly reaching out to take the paper towels from you as well. You could only fall back onto your bottom, adjusting a bit to rest your back against a nearby cabinet, head turned to focus on a blinking GC machine across the way. “Connor, you didn’t answer my question.”

Your voice came out like a raspy whisper, a part of you surprised that he actually managed to hear it. 

“Lieutenant Anderson did not send me, though he did express his concerns before retiring to bed.”

You blinked up at him, vision blurring for a second as the android towered above you, and curled your legs into yourself. It was an action that felt, and probably looked, downright _pitiful._ If anyone else had entered that room, any officer, or detective, or even one of the cleaning androids, you would’ve simply straightened your spine and returned to your desk.

But this was Connor, so you found you didn’t care.

“I can assure you that I came here on my own volition, out of concern for your well-being.”

And God, the declaration was simple in and of itself, but you couldn’t help but be caught off guard. Perhaps it was because neither of you had ever really vocalized how much you cared about each other before, it was only ever with simple actions.

Like the way you brought him knick-knacks for his desk every week, fretting about how bare it was. Or how whenever Detective Reed decided to be a little more asshole-y than usual, you would someone show up with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, that would _‘accidentally’_ slip out of your grasp and onto his shirt. 

Maybe it was the way Connor hovered around you whenever you had been called to a dangerous crime scene, brows furrowed in concern as if you could injure yourself any second. Or perhaps it was the way he always knew when you were upset or stressed, and he tried to pull every little string in the universe to make you crack a smile again.

Or him driving out to the station well past midnight because he had an inkling you’d still be holed up here.

“If it would simplify the process, I can analyze the sample. Perhaps then-”

You had never stood up so quickly in your entire life, panic overtaking your features as you watched the android step towards your workstation. Your hand shot out to grab his wrist, effectively halting him in his tracks.

“Connor, don’t you _dare._ ”

He looked back at you, confusion etched across his face.

“But if I can identify the missing substance you-”

“Yes, the missing substance that _fried another android in minutes._ It could kill you, Connor, and I wouldn’t…”

You swallowed, pushing back the thought of not having him here with you, your hold on him instinctively tightening. You did your best to lift your lips into a reassuring smile, taking note of how his LED had settled into a yellow state.

“We’ll figure it out, and neither of us are gonna throw ourselves under the bus to do it, alright?”

The android nodded slowly, brown eyes suddenly lighting up to shine with a teasing mirth. “I suppose that means you agree to rest then, Doctor?”

Your mouth opened and closed much like a fish out of water, your mind trying to process the deal you had just thrown yourself into. Instead, you released your grip on him, hands crossing over your chest in an almost childish manner. “Alright, alright...I’ll go home, _Detective.”_

He smiled at that, the sight having your heart rate increase just a smidge.

Must’ve been the caffeine.

Caving in to Connor’s high level persuasion skills, and your body’s call for help, you began to gather your things, shutting down machines as you went.

He would proceed to drive you home, your body giving into its exhaustive state as soon as you settled into the passenger seat. You never fully recalled how exactly you ended up in your bed, shoes off and blanket tucked around your form-

But you would awaken to a note on the kitchen counter, written in an overly precise font, a small laugh flying past your lips.

_“Hydro_ **_fluo_ ** _ric Acid- you mumbled it in your sleep.”_

_-Connor_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HPLC: High Performance Liquid Chromatography Machine  
> GC: Gas Chromatography Machine
> 
> Please note that my forensic jargon is purely based on some internet research- I've done my best!
> 
> This story is essentially just snippets of the characters, each chapter being designated a 'definition' of what love is. If you have any ideas for themes, please feel free to throw them my way! POV and timeline may alternate.


	2. To Notice (The Little Things)

“Morning, you two.”

You handed a steaming cup of coffee over to Hank, the lieutenant mumbling a tired _'thanks’_ as he slipped you two dollars in exchange. Moving around the curve of the work-space, you dug into your bag with your now free hand to place a tiny succulent on Connor’s desk- your weekly contribution to making his area a little less plain.

The android’s eyes flitted over to the gift before they landed on you, his lips ticking up just the slightest before his attention returned to his screen.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Normally, you would make your way down the hall and to the lab, but your intuition decided to keep you in place, eyebrows scrunching up in slight confusion. In addition to his unusually detached response, you caught sight of Connor rapidly tapping his fingers on his desk in a seemingly nervous action. You opened and closed your mouth in hesitation, deciding to ultimately stay quiet before shooting Hank a questioning look.

But he simply shrugged his shoulders in indifference.

And perhaps you, too, would’ve overlooked the encounter in time, but Connor would continue the strange behavior at a crime scene later that day. Tapping, tapping, _tapping_ …

“Excuse me, Doctor.”

Connor gently placed his hand on your lower back to slide past you, his fingers thrumming along with an invisible rhythm as he did so. You could only watch him enter the tight hallway and disappear into another part of the apartment, worry gracing your features.

“Hank?”

The lieutenant grunted in response, his eyes briefly looking back at you before trailing the blood splatter on the bedroom floor. You moved away from the room’s threshold to stand next to him, your voice lowered when you spoke once more.

“I think there’s something wrong with Connor.”

 _That_ got his attention, his eyes coming up to connect with yours, eyebrows raised. “No shit, kid.”

You rolled your eyes, getting ready to chide him for his unhelpfulness, when he continued on, dropping to your level.

“He lost that damn quarter a couple days ago. Won’t stop fuckin’ tapping his fingers on everything- got that shit from you for sure.”

You gave him an incredulous look, pausing to take one of the blood trace samples from your site intern, who you thanked wholeheartedly.

Hank glanced at the doorway before shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, as if afraid the android would appear any second. 

“Look, I tried to give him another one. _‘Not the same’_ , he says, and then he rambled on about how the weight is off or some bullshit.”

And normally you would’ve laughed at Connor’s blunt analysis, but you could only stare at the floor, a deep concern settling in your gut. Because that coin wasn’t some party trick, it wasn’t something he did when he was nervous, and neither was the damn tapping-

Connor was trying to re-calibrate his system, and he had lost the one thing that he knew would be able to do it.

“It appears that the victim died of blunt force trauma-”

You jumped, hand coming to rest on your chest at the sudden appearance of the android by your side, eyes widening. Similarly, Hank jolted backwards, a perturbed look on his face.

“Jesus **fuck** , Connor!”

The brunette blinked, looking innocently between the two of you. “Apologies for not announcing myself first.”

You sighed, and after a moment looked up at Connor to give him a reassuring smile. His calm expression faltered, and for a second he seemed as if he wanted to say something, but Hank’s loud mouth boomed across the area, effectively halting him.

“Let’s wrap it the fuck up here, I need a drink!”

And just like that, you all scrambled to finish your separate tasks.

* * *

Connor watched as you bounded up to Hank’s car, a smile spreading across your features as you threw your arms around Sumo, who was currently halfway out of the passenger window. You cooed and loved on the Saint Bernard much like a mother would her child, the scene nothing but endearing to the detective.

“Oh, did Hank leave you all alone out here, huh? You poor thing, stuck in a little car like this while there’s a murderer about!”

“ _Poor thing?_ Wouldn’t let us out the damn door this morning without whining like a baby. Had to stick him in the car just to get him to shut the hell up!”

Hank circled around to the front of the vehicle, giving a sad attempt at a look of annoyance at the scene. Choosing to ignore the lieutenant’s remark, you let out a light laugh when Sumo gave a loving lick to your cheek, and you returned the affection by giving him a scratch behind the ears.

You cocked your head to the side, speaking in a hushed tone-

“You just wanted to help with the investigation, huh, buddy?”

Connor’s lips titled up, his keen eyes taking notice of how genuine your own smile was, how bright it seemed, how it lifted your cheeks and crinkled the corner of your eyes. He watched as loose strands of your hair moved with guidance from the light breeze of Detroit’s spring, and the sun, rare and bright, embraced your features with ease. 

How contradicting, Connor thought, to the chaotic scene that you had all just exited out of.

And perhaps it was the ordinariness of it all, the simplicity of it, the fact that Connor had seen something like this before, but he found himself in a sudden state of calm.

Connor felt his fingers, which were once tapping at a rapid pace on his leg, slow down to halt. 

In this moment, looking at you, he found that he experienced the same feeling he often did when he bounced a quarter from one hand to the next-

Calibrated. _Balanced._

**((SYSTEM CODE 0141C))**

“...Are you two planning on walking back or are you going to get in the car?”

Connor’s focus was snapped away in an instant, and he found himself letting out an apology, his eyes diverting to anywhere but you as you both scrambled into the backseat. Hank proceeded to turn up the radio, every once in a while popping questions about the case before the conversation ultimately tapered off. 

The brunette watched buildings pass by in a blur, the now setting sun reflecting off of glass-paneled skyscrapers of the city’s skyline as they headed towards its center. He began to shift through the notes he had built up on the murder, eyes closing in concentration-

And then he heard it.

 _Thump, thump, thump_ …

You were drumming your fingers against the cushioned seat. 

Connor’s eyes flickered open, taking note of how you were chewing on your bottom lip, and how your brows were furrowed in thought. You were worried about something, that he could tell, and his social programming screamed at him to ask what was going on-

But instead he reached out to place his hand across yours, his thumb running gentle circles across your skin. He watched as you turned to look at him, your lips tilting up into a small smile and pink dusting your cheeks, before your attention ultimately returned to the world outside, and his hand returned to his lap.

And he didn’t know why he did it- he couldn’t comprehend why he had to reach out like _that_. He didn’t know why the vision of you at your happiest stabilized his system earlier, either. For once, he didn’t have the answer.

And for once, he found he didn’t really need one.

He was, he noted, as content as someone like him could be.

A few mornings later and Connor would find a small tin of quarters on his desk, all of them from the 1996 Washington collection, and a small note in your curved handwriting.

_“Congrats on solving another case!”_

He smiled, plucking one of the coins to roll back and forth on his knuckles, taking note of how the weight aligned with his previous one perfectly.

He supposed it would serve as well as it could, for the days when he wasn’t able to have you next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read thus far! It's much appreciated. :)
> 
> Small note: R/C has a PhD (perhaps in Chemistry with a Forensic Science Concentration, but honestly it's up to you) and that's why Connor has a tendency to call her 'Doctor'.


	3. To Fret Over

Your hands were grasping the car wheel in a vice, the tops of your knuckles turning white as your foot continually slammed onto the gas. The city passed by in a nighttime blur, heavy rain splattering against your windshield as you headed for its outskirts. 

You felt nothing but panic, the feeling only growing as you glanced over at the android in your passenger seat. Tears stung at the corner of your eyes, the image of him splattered with bright thirium nearly causing them to spill, but you held back, a heavy lump settling in your throat instead. The yellow of his LED filled your car, mixing in with the intermittent overhead lights of the bridge you had just entered, while his eyes remained closed.

He would be fine, right?

“None of my major bio-components were compromised, I can assure you that I am fine despite my...appearance.”

“Connor, you’re bleeding out in my car. You’re not _fine_.”

Your voice was raspy, lifted up in a broken lithe. You could feel his eyes on you now, knew he wanted to protest your statement, but the approaching security gate seemed to have him shrink back.

Cyberlife.

You _hated_ bringing him here, hated the obnoxious onyx tower that awaited you, and hated the fact that the side of a gun was the first thing to greet you as you pulled up. Its owner bent down to peer into your window, hand coming up to knock on the glass.

The guard’s voice was gruff, barely loud enough to be heard over the storm that raged on outside. “What’s your purpose?”

You leaned out just a bit, rain drops smacking your face as you did your best to appear confident.

“Just repairs... _Please_.”

“...There have been walk-in clinics established throughout the city over the past few months, you can go there.”

Your jaw tightened, eyes alight with an unbridled anger, your own reflection staring back at you from his helmet. “They won’t work on him. He’s an RK800.”

He tilted his head to glance into your passenger seat, stiffening a bit at just the sight of Connor, whose expression had morphed into something similar to yours. With a sigh he raised his hand to signal the gatekeeper, and the concrete wall before you descended, piece by piece to allow for passage. Through gritted teeth you let out a forced _‘thank you’_ and proceeded to park right at the entrance, moving quickly to shut off the engine and help the brunette out of the car.

“You don’t have to-”

He had already stood, but you moved just as fast as him when he was in the state. You looped your arm around his waist and slung his left arm over your shoulders, trying not to focus on the cables that barely kept his hand attached to his wrist. You kicked the car door shut with your foot, and tried your best to look up at him with a small smile.

“Too late.”

Even though he was soaked and in this state, even though the thirium that now coated the both of you indicated just how much he had lost, Connor’s lips still tilted up into a small smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling just the slightest. But you didn’t have time to admire him for his tenacity or features, so the two of you quickly stumbled into the lobby, landing at the front desk while two guards remained at the door, unfazed and unhelpful.

“Repairs, please.”

The LED on the receptionist’s skull blinked in a rhythmic shade of blue, her brown eyes widening just a bit before she nodded and gestured to her right. “I have notified the ARU department of your arrival. Logan will be assisting you today.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment you wondered if she was deviant, the concerned expression that remained on her face strong enough to convince you so- but how could you continue to work here if you were?

You returned your focus onto the android at your side, trying to navigate him around the circular center of the building, the bright white decor of the place being stained by the blue blood trail that followed you. Connor remained silent for the short journey, brown eyes narrowed with heavy trepidation, and lips downturned into a frown.

The ARU’s door slid open with a mechanical buzz, and you were greeted by a tall brunette in white, whose grey eyes held an understanding that didn’t seem quite possible-

Because he was an MC500.

“I’m Logan, it’s nice to meet you.”

Connor said it before you could, his brows scrunched in confusion as he eyed the android before him.

“You’re a deviant.”

“I think most of us are, as of late, but we can discuss that later...Follow me, please. We can work in my office.”

You followed him down a short hall to the left, taking note of the emptiness of the space and the stalled production machines that were visible through intermittent glass windows. Logan opened a silver door to reveal his office, which held a cluttered desk and a large work table. Boxes of android parts and thirium littered the floor, while a cluster of small photos hung on the wall, most of them of Logan smiling with others.

“Go ahead and have a seat, but I’m afraid I don’t have a third one.”

You lowered Connor onto the nearby chair, and reassured Logan that you would be fine standing. He smiled, albeit what appeared to be sheepishly, and immediately veered toward the blue-blood tumblers, handing it to the other android.

“Serial number and function analysis?”

Connor stared quizzically at the swirling liquid before answering in a mechanical manner, the tone having you shift uncomfortably against the wall you were leaning on. “313 248 317 - 52. Normal function has been compromised due to three lodged bullets and four separate gunshot wounds, and a disengagement of the carpal, radius, and ulna units on the left arm. Thirium levels have dropped by 70% and biocomponents remain unharmed.”

You winced, because despite his constant reassurance that he could not feel pain, the look that came over his face after his speech could only be described as exhaustion. Logan got up to dig through some of the boxes, and gestured for Connor to drink as much thirium as he felt he needed.

Your phone rang, the bright tune jolting you from your thoughts, and the name that flashed across the screen had you letting out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Hank.”

You looked over at Connor, who nodded at you in understanding as you left the room, shutting the door quietly behind you.

_“He didn’t fall apart on you, did he?”_

The lieutenant’s question was a meak attempt at a humorous quip, his actual concern still quite evident.

“He’s fine… I just-”

_I worry_.

“...he’s fine. How are Reed and Miller?”

_“Reed still has the energy to be a jackass, so he’s gonna be fine. Precinct is still a goddamn mess though, feel like I’m working in a hen house.”_

You snorted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guess I won’t be spilling coffee on Reed for a while. Not sure I could bring myself to his level when he has a gunshot wound.”

_“Hah, not even for Connor?”_

His voice was teasing this time, because Hank knew you’d take up for the brunette in an instant, just like you had the day he had first walked into the precinct. And you’d always known that the android had the ability to take care of himself, had a strength that was unmatched by most, but that hadn’t stopped you, and it wouldn’t now.

But you hadn’t seen him in such a terrible state before- one where he couldn’t fix it himself, one that brought him so close to a shutdown.

To death.

And that scared you. It scared Hank, too, who had called you to the aftermath of the Red Ice raid to beg Connor to get into the car, to get _help_. The memory of him slumped up against a shipping crate had your vision blurring, and a heavy lump returning to your throat.

_“...kid, you alright?”_

You jolted at the sound of Hank’s voice, your shaking hand coming up to wipe away a stray tear. 

“Y-Yeah, yeah...I’m just tired. I’ll text you when we’re on our way back?”

_“Sure...don’t stay there too long. Place gives me the creeps.”_

You nodded as if he could see you, and gave a quick goodbye before shoving the phone back into your pocket. You closed your eyes and leaned against the wall for a moment’s rest, the sound of the door opening and closing breaking you out of your reverie just a few minutes later. 

Logan now stood before you, expression soft.

“He’s all set, and I’ll be working with the local walk-in units in the morning to have his repair manual available. This will eliminate the need to drive out here.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He smiled, his arms crossing over his chest. “He’s not the only one who has wandered in here like that… though most don’t bother to use the front door. I do whatever I can to help.”

“...but, why? Especially here, of all places?”

You felt a sour taste settle in your mouth for letting the question slip out, a regretful frown tugging at your lips soon after. But Logan spoke up before you could even apologize, his friendly demeanor unwavering. “Many things have to be fixed from the inside out, and Cyberlife is no exception. Androids working in unison with humans to provide care for all is a necessary step, and it's one that needs to be continued in practice. It is my choice to be here, and mine alone to allow for anonymity in my work.”

It took a few seconds for his words to settle in, the point of anonymity hitting you quite suddenly-

He hadn’t asked your name. He hadn't asked what happened. He just _helped_.

“I’ll leave you two alone. Just make sure to shut the door on your way out.”

Quite stunned, you barely registered that he had walked away, leaving you outside of his office- 

It was a funny thing, how an act of kindness could bring one to a halt.

After a moment of thought you turned the nearby doorknob without even thinking, eyes widening a bit as they landed upon the android before you. The corner of his lips lifted up into a reassuring smile, hands pausing in the task of buttoning his tattered shirt as his eyes searched yours. Relief washed over you like a wave, just the sight of him looking like he did every morning having your vision blurring and lips returning his smile.

An emotional equilibrium.

“...Let me.”

Your voice was weak and shaky, but you crossed the room in confidence, fingers brushing against his as you gently began to button his shirt, and his arms dropped back down to his sides. 

The reflection of his yellow LED shone in the nearby metal cabinetry.

You reached for the tie that had been haphazardly tossed onto the back of his chair, your eyes still avoiding his as you deftly tied it and adjusted the cloth of his collar in silence. A lost cause, considering that it would most likely have to be tossed later.

Nonetheless, you finally looked up to find him watching you intently, a study of your actions that was mixed with a tender eye. Your hand lifted to run through his mussed hair, a selfish gesture, considering the fact that you knew as soon as he took a step it would move to its own volition.

You didn’t register that you were crying until Connor’s hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb moving to catch your tears.

He smiled again, a teasing tone entangled in his words when he finally spoke. 

“How do I look, Doctor?”

You let out a small laugh, a few tears traveling down to your lips, despite Connor’s attempts to cease them.

“Oh, Connor…”

You threw your arms around him, taking in the comforting sound of his thirium pump as you moved to rest your head on his chest. And he moved to return the gesture, his arms easily wrapping around your waist.

His lips then brushed gently against your crown, followed by his chin coming to a rest upon the top of your head.

A moment of reprieve, for those who fret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so, so challenging to write, but I absolutely adored doing so. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this little story of mine! I hope you and your loved ones are safe and well during these odd times.❤️


	4. To Dance With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.”
> 
> — Mikko Harvey, from “For M,” Foundry (no. 9, September 2018

The wind howled outside, the sound of raindrops splattering against the windows of your apartment more akin to that of hail. Lightning flashed viciously, its intermittent light spilling in through half shut curtains as thunder roared in the distance. 

You shuffled around in the dark, eyes squinting in an attempt to adjust to the sparse lighting your scattered candles were providing.

Funny how technology had come so far, and yet a proper generator for your building was out of the question. 

**_Message Sent To: Connor, 8:07PM_ **

_Hey, won’t be able to make it to the bar tonight. Don’t let Reed convince you to buy him a round in my place- I’ll throw some cash on his desk tomorrow._

**_Message Received From: Connor, 8:08PM_ **

_Are you okay?_

Your phone buzzed angrily at you in concession with his response, the battery indicator in the corner flashing red, wiping away the small smile that appeared on your lips from his concern. 

**_Message Sent To: Connor, 8:08PM_ **

_Yeah, the power just went out in my building from the storm. Not fun, but not life threatening._

**_Message Received From: Connor, 8:12PM_ **

_Do you want company?_

It took you a few minutes to process his offer, brows furrowed in confusion and lips parted slightly in shock. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been to your place before, that was a near constant occurrence, but they were brief instances- moments brought about by rides to and from work, or the return of borrowed clothing and books.

And it dawned on you that even though you spent most of your days with him, were _lucky_ enough to do so, it strangely felt like it wasn’t enough.

Your eyes roamed over to the jacket that hung on the coat rack by the door, the blue and white reflective lettering shining just enough in the candlelight to be visible. He had insisted you keep it, throwing it over your shoulders when Detroit’s winter had been harsh enough to bite through your own protective gear. Android identification was no longer required, he had stated, and it was better for you to at least get some use out of it.

That was months ago.

And as the thunder and wind continued to roar outside, you suddenly became hyper aware of just how cold your home felt.

Before you could even make a decision, you watched as the phone in your hand blacked out, your message screen now replaced with the outline of an empty battery. After a few seconds, that too, disappeared. 

You sighed, hand tightening around the device before you placed it on a side table, and moved to settle in on the couch. The old, battery operated radio you had tinkered with earlier buzzed in the background, a muffled weather report that was mainly buried under the sounds of the storm. 

Perhaps it was the fact that you had lessened your caffeine intake for the day, or the fact that you had nothing better to do, but you began to drift in and out of sleep.

The thunder became further off, heavy rain turned to light pitters against the windows, and a few knocks on your front door had you jolting out of your restless slumber. 

You tried to fix your hair and the rumpled work clothes you had yet to change out of, but the more you fumbled with your appearance, the more frivolous it felt. Your building manager was probably just stopping by with an update, you told yourself, _and_ it was dark as shit in here.

So you swung the door open, fully prepared to smile through the fact that the power might not be restored until tomorrow, but instead your expression twisted into something of positive bewilderment.

“Connor?”

The android’s brown eyes shone in the faint glow of the emergency light in the hallway, and his lips seemed to tilt up into a small smile at the sight of you. He, too, was still in his work clothes, though a navy blouson jacket now covered his usual button up. 

“I didn’t find it equitable that you were missing out on celebrating a case you helped solve...and you didn’t answer my message.”

One of his hands gripped a closed umbrella, though you could tell by his ruffled hair that it hadn’t done much good, while the other held onto a bottle of your celebratory favorite. 

“Oh, Connor…”

You shuffled him in, hanging up his umbrella and taking the bottle to place it onto your kitchen counter. You turned to face him, only to notice that he was still standing by the entryway, his attention fixated on his old jacket. For the briefest of seconds, his LED flashed yellow.

“Did you swing by the bar? I feel bad that you aren’t with the others.”

“I spent a reasonable enough time there. Forty-two minutes, to be exact.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the counter and smiled. “You didn’t last very long.”

“I didn’t find it to be very stimulating.”

You let out a small laugh, the sound finally causing him to break out of his reverie. He turned to face you, and even in the dim lighting given by the candlelight, you could tell that his expression had morphed into something softer, more gentle. It was a look that couldn’t quite be given a meaning, not one you could define, anyway, but it never failed to have your heart seemingly skip a beat.

“I’m afraid you won’t be entertained much here, either. I think you’ve read most of my books…”

Connor moved, eyes scanning your apartment similarly to if he was reconstructing a crime scene, though his lips were not set in a grim line like they usually were. You could only watch him with a slightly raised brow, amused at the idea of his mission now involving finding entertainment.

He bent down slightly to twiddle with the radio, raising both the antenna and volume in order to create clarity.

“The radio still works.”

“Oh, yeah… never thought I’d have to drag that thing out again.”

You watched as his LED spun from yellow to blue, and after seemingly coming to a conclusion, he turned to face you, the look on his face akin to mischievousness.

“We could dance.”

Those three words caused you to turn into some sort of bumbling mess, a weakened sound of protest flying past your lips. You were trying to gather yourself, you really were, but when you looked across the room at him to find that his lips had curled up into something smug, you could only look away. Dance? _Dance?_

And just the concept had you recalling the feeling of his hand on yours, the way his fingers brushed against your lower back, the way his lips seemingly brushed against your crown the night of the tower-

You wanted more. You’ve always wanted _more_.

So you took a deep breath, and you nodded. 

Connor smiled, and you tried not to roll your eyes, because even as one of the most advanced androids, he could still be so _cheesy_. But at the rate that your heart was pumping in your chest, you could say that your affection for such a trait was absolutely unbridled.

You found yourself standing in the nearest open space of the living room, Connor’s hand gently coming to a rest on your lower back while the other became entangled with yours. Even as the radio buzzed a soft tune in the background, the both of you remained still for a moment, his fingers drumming along your shirt as he looked past you. You tilted your head, taking notice of the spinning of his LED.

“...Are you downloading tutorials?”

He blinked once, twice, and turned his attention back to you. “Yes, but with the after effects of the storm, I’m afraid the options are limited. Right now it’s just a scene from something called _‘Dirty Dancing’_ on loop.”

You let out a light laugh, the sound having his expression change to something a bit more sheepish. 

“A classic for sure, but you’re not picking me up like that.”

He hummed in thought as he took a step, and then another, and you followed with ease.

“Are you doubting my capabilities, _Doctor_?”

“ _No_ … I just…”

Your voice trailed off, heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at anything _but_ him. You could only hope that he didn’t notice, but he had discovered that you were hiding a fever once upon a time, so you knew that it was a fruitless effort. 

So instead you focused on the rain still coming down on your window, let the sound of the radio playing something slow, but promising to fill your ears, and you felt yourself relax. You remembered whose hold you were in, whose hand was entangled with yours, and let the trust you had built with him guide your feet. 

Because it was _Connor_ , and you were comfortable, and you felt warm.

Your home felt _warm_.

You looked up at him, brown eyes connecting with yours as his LED settled on a soft honey. And the expression he held was almost curious, as though he was analyzing every response you gave. You could only smile, gently, and when you spoke it was just as soft.

“Thank you...for coming to check on me.”

“...Of course, Doctor.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, your head eventually coming down to rest in the crook of his neck. The radio continued on, and so did your dance, your shadows moving lightly in the candlelight.

Eventually, at a time unknown to you, the apartment buzzed to life, and the both of you came to a halt.

Neither of you let go.

“Connor?”

He hummed in acknowledgement, the sound vibrating in his chest. 

And perhaps you were just exhausted, perhaps you had let the warmth of another body in your apartment take over your better judgement, but you couldn’t stop the words that came tumbling out of your mouth: “...Will you stay?”

You didn’t pick up your head, too afraid to see the expression on his face, too conflicted with yourself for even _letting_ your wants be known.

“Is that what you want?”

When you answered, it came out more like a whisper.

_“...Yes.”_

He stayed on the couch that night, and when you awakened to an empty space in your bed, your palm reaching out to brush against cold sheets, there was an undeniable part of you that wished he hadn’t.

And you could only ask yourself one question: _what is this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank when Connor comes home the next morning:😏


	5. To Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am free and that is why I am lost.” - Franz Kafka
> 
> Or, Connor has some heavy introspection.

The bullpen was nothing short of chaotic- detectives, officers, and the occasional citizen could be seen running from one side of the space to the next at a near constant rate.

The precinct moved in waves, Hank had told him once, and as time passed Connor noted that he was correct in his observation. It was either deathly quiet, which often caused him to wander ~~to your lab~~ , or so loud that he found documentation to be less intriguing than observing those around him.

Today was one of those days.

And perhaps it was simply another spiral in the web of his deviancy, but he found that his tendency to muse was only getting worse. He wouldn’t let it truly affect his work, of course, but he found that any moment he had to himself, even in the midst of chaos, was spent on trying to deduce why he was constantly bombarded with _thought_. Is this how humans functioned- unable to quiet their own minds for more than a second? Unable to just, for a second, _be?_

Connor concluded that he wasn’t necessarily opposed to it, but that didn’t mean that he understood why it had come on so strongly, or why one subject was so prevalent above the rest:

 _You_.

The sound of heels hitting tile had him drawing his eyes away from the case file that had long been forgotten on his computer. He watched as a familiar figure moved down the crowded aisles of the office with determination etched on their features, and files clutched tightly to their chest. Those who were standing parted like the red sea, because those who knew you revered you, and those who didn’t had simply followed the actions of others.

Your form was donned in a pencil skirt and blouse, an outfit you reserved for the thing you dreaded the most about your job: court proceedings. You complained about the pressure of them often, and the android always listened with open ears.

Connor’s eyes roamed freely from your stockings to your hair, which was pinned neatly away from your face, and for a moment he was just… _lost_. It was wrong of him, wasn’t it? To be observing you like this? To watch your hips sway just the slightest, and to remember that he was privileged enough to have brushed his hands along them the other day?

His brows furrowed.

 **_Why_ ** _had he done that?_

He barely registered that he was even at your door that night until he just _was_ , with your favorite drink in hand and rain water clinging to his locks.

He wanted to check on you. It was the logical thing to do, he told himself.

But why did he insist on doing the oh-so-very human thing of _dancing_? Why did he find himself constantly replaying the memory of you fresh out of the shower the following morning, his hand brushing yours as he handed you a cup of coffee, the corners of your eyes crinkling just slightly as you smiled?

It was a textbook example of domesticity, and he relished in it. 

Over and over again, he told himself that he just wanted to see you happy. He wanted to see you happy because he-

“For fuck’s sake Connor if you’re going to stare try and make it a little less obvious.”

The android blinked once, twice, barely processing the fact that you had stopped at Tina’s desk, bending over slightly to show her some of the paperwork you were carrying. Hank’s scolding had him suddenly feeling an immense amount of embarrassment, an emotion that wasn’t known to him months ago, and he immediately turned his attention back to the screen at his desk.

“Apologies, Lieutenant.”

Hank mumbled something incomprehensible, half of his words swallowed by a sip of room temperature coffee, before he leaned back in his chair and began scoring through a pile of documents that had been left on his desk. It wasn’t until Connor was sure that his partner was too enamored with his reading that he stopped scrolling aimlessly through case files as a facade for work.

He returned to his headspace of consistent thought, breaking out for less than a minute to run a diagnostics test, but he was presented with the same result he always was: _stable_.

And it irked him to no end, the fact that he was unable to find a simple diagnostic result to pinpoint the issue with his... desires. 

An _issue?_ No, he didn’t mean that.

Caring for you was, nor would it ever be, a hindrance.

In a sudden bout of frustration with himself he stood up, gave a half-hearted excuse for a need of fresh air to his partner, and headed steadfast for the front exit. All the while he could feel Hank’s blue eyes trained on his back, expression contorted into some mix of concern and exasperation. 

He had been looking at him like that a lot, lately. 

Connor found himself leaning against the brick front of the building, hands fiddling with a coin while his eyes settled on the small park across the street. And although he had put on a calm front, his head buzzed with a series of search results that only stoked the fire of his curiosity. 

**What does it mean to care for someone?**

_To look after someone; to want to ensure that person's safety, acting as a caretaker. If you care for someone, you are taking care of him or her. This means that you have feelings toward the person and want to ensure his or her well-being._

The android’s brows furrowed once more, finding the wording to be confusing. He cared for a lot of people- you and Hank, especially, but the precinct as a whole. He cared about the safety of friends he knew to still be on the run, thinking fondly of the hand scribbled letters he kept in his side table at home

A car honked in the distance, and he shook his head.

**What does it mean to have feelings for someone?**

_When someone tells you that they have feelings for you, it can be easy to interpret those feelings as love. Emotions are complex, however, and that's especially true when it comes to romantic love... The problem is, though, that having feelings for someone isn't the same as being in love with them._

Connor instructed his systems to type the next question carefully, hesitating for a moment to see what would come up.

**What is love?**

_:a feeling of strong or constant affection for a person. : attraction that includes sexual desire : the strong affection felt by people who have a romantic relationship._

“Hey, are you okay?”

He froze, coin resting idly in his grip as he felt a familiar hand reach up to rest gently on his upper arm. He immediately wiped away the results that obscured his vision with slight blue, as if with fear that you could somehow see them, and turned to face you, expression immediately softening.

“...You have a court presentation today.”

You nodded, slowly, a look of bewilderment taking over your features. “I do, but-”

“Then don’t worry about me.”

You opened your mouth to say something, hand tightening around the strap of your bag, before the sound of the alarm on your watch snapped you out of your thoughts. The warmth of your touch disappeared as you moved to tap the device with slight annoyance, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before you looked back up at him.

“Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Connor nodded, all the while fighting the urge to reach out and tuck a piece of loose hair behind your ear-

Intimate. _That’s too intimate_. 

You walked away before he even had the chance, leaving him with a small wave and the sight of your disappearing form. He remained still, the sides of the metal coin he held angrily digging into his palm, while the small smile he had given you faded.

He asked himself the question that he was so afraid of, and his LED flashed with a familiar honey coloring.

Was he in love with you?

And he didn’t know- he really didn’t know. Because this was all so new to him, because he wasn’t being scolded by an invisible force for thinking of these things, because for once he was free to _decide_ and _define_ and he was _so, so lost_.

As he watched your car leave the parking lot just a moment later, there was only one thought that was prevalent above the rest:

_Could a machine like him give you the love that you deserved?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, you're all so lovely! I still can't believe the love that this has gotten.
> 
> Also, fun tidbit that the answers to Connor's "research" questions were pulled from actual Google results, lol.


	6. To Give In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want you to want me. Why don't we rely on chemistry? Why don't we collide the spaces that divide us?"
> 
> -Superposition (Reflection), Young The Giant

“Hey, bring me a coffee, dipshit! Get a move on!”

You remember when you first met Connor.

Reed’s voice had carried outside of the kitchen, the sound having your brows scrunch up in slight confusion. The tone was harsh and biting, a new level of anger for someone who was already drowning in it. You moved quickly, the grip on your empty mug tightening as you rounded the corner, concerned that he had begun to target the few, arguably lovely, interns that worked in the precinct. You came to a halt in the open threshold of your destination, only to find an unfamiliar figure standing tall and poised in the face of harassment.

“I said, get me a coffee!”

Reed, much shorter in height, glared up at the very source of gossip that had muddled your ears all morning -

The new android detective.

Dressed in the signature monochromatic tones of his creator, with the flashy blue lettering on his jacket serving as nothing but extra identification, he spoke with an air of confidence that seemed, quite impossibly, laced with something akin to sarcasm.

“I'm sorry, but I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson.”

And you couldn’t help it when a small laugh escaped you, your free hand coming up to hide your smile.

Silence fell over the room, all three occupants of the kitchen, including Tina, turning to face you with mixed expressions. Grey eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Reed shifted to face you, lips downturned into a scowl.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, shifting to stand straight, amusement still tugging at the corner of your lips.

“He’s funny, and you’re being an ass.”

Reed scoffed, hands lifting up into a dramatic gesture to point at the brunette next to him. “He? _He_? You mean _it_. It’s nothing but a fuckin’ piece of-”

Tina called out his name, but to no avail, her expression falling as her eyes connected with yours. Even though she didn’t say it, she appeared apologetic for the actions of someone she couldn’t control- a habit you had previously chided her for.

Regardless.

“...plastic! It’s the same as your little machines downstairs, except this one can _talk shit_.”

Reed shoved the android, hard enough to knock a normal person off of their feet, but the brunette only stumbled back a bit, the LED on the side of his head briefly flashing yellow. 

And perhaps it was because he was blocking your coffee, perhaps it was because you were overwhelmed with sympathy that came out in the form of aggression, but you spoke to the detective in a manner you never had before.

“Touch him again, Reed, and _every single time_ I’m called onto your scene I’ll take all the damn time I need... **and you’ll be stuck right alongside me until I feel like I’m done**. Now _fuck off_.”

Tina moved quickly, hoping down from her seat to guide a stunned Reed out of the room, leaving you alone with the new addition in seconds. You turned to look at him with a sigh, taking note of his furrowed brows.

“Are you alright?”

It took him a minute, his hands coming up to adjust his tie before he regarded your question, body stiffening up a bit.

“I’m Connor, the-”

“...android sent by CyberLife. Yes, I know. You’ve caused quite a stir this morning.”

You moved past him and began to fiddle with the coffee pot, back turned but voice still addressing him.

“Now, back to my original question, are you alright?”

Again, a strange beat of silence fell between the two of you, your shoulders falling a bit as he answered you in the way he was programmed to.

“My systems are fully functional.”

You could only turn to face him with a soft smile, a part of you aching at the lost expression that had overtaken such striking features.

“It’s nice to meet you, Connor.”

And now he sat across from you in the dim lighting of Jimmy’s Bar, huddled in a corner booth on a Thursday night, waiting for another to join your party. It had been a long day at work, with back to back cases filling all hours of the day, the small respite from the world outside welcomed by the both of you.

“Hank isn’t coming.”

A sound of confusion flew past your lips, eyes moving from the rim of your drink to connect with his. 

“Wasn’t this _his_ idea?”

“If I recall correctly, he was the one to suggest this, yes.”

You scrunched your brows, chewing lightly on your lip as you became enamored with the morphed wood patterns on the tabletop. Hank had shooed the both of you off early, mumbling something about ‘ _fuckin’ paperwork’_ and stating that he would catch up later. Which was, quite honestly, one of the most suspicious things you’ve ever heard come out of that man’s mouth.

Hank had never stayed late to process paperwork in his entire goddamn tenure and you were sure of it.

“What did he say, exactly?”

“That Fowler needed to speak with him about the case from this morning, and by the time he got out here it would be a waste of time.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, shaking your head a bit before looking up at the android before you. His head was tilted slightly to the side, amusement tugging at his lips, and for a moment you were a bit lost in admiration before your original point came tumbling out of your mouth.

“He’s lying.”

Connor hummed, eyes closing for a second as if to contemplate your words.

“I get the sense he is, too.... I’ve also notified him of your annoyance via text, but he appears to have left us on read.”

You smiled, leaning across the table to straighten the brunette’s shirt collar without even a thought. He used to fiddle with his attire himself, constantly adjusting his tie or the sleeves of his shirts and jackets, but every time you were around him something was always left just a _bit_ astray. 

Perhaps you would tease him about it one day, but for now you would relish in the excuse for close proximity. 

“Well, I suppose now you’re stuck with me.”

Connor retorted your statement without even a beat, watching intently as you fell back into your seat with a slight _thud_. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

You smiled, taking a sip of your drink and leaning forward slightly to rest your elbow on the table. 

“One day you’re going to get tired of me, Connor.”

And you meant your words as a joke, a self-deprecating dig that was said with a slight glint in your eye. You wouldn’t admit to him that behind it was a real fear, a fear that bubbled up with the help of alcohol made melancholy. 

An unnerving silence fell between the two of you, and suddenly the clanking of nearby glasses and the buzz of terrible neon lighting mixing with the sounds of the radio were just _loud_. You found that you couldn’t look at him, instead mulling over the fact that your companionship with the android was going to reach a year’s mark in a little over two months. He had stayed around for that long, had come to know your favorite things and annoyances with great perception and you his-

Like how he had a thing for classical music, specifically Debussy, and an absolute distaste for anything involving great heights.

“I don’t find that to be possible.”

His voice cut through your thoughts like a knife, your attention snapping back to him in seconds. The android’s expression could only be described as a saddened smile, brown eyes looking at you like they knew something you didn’t.

And you meant to just grab it as a means of distraction, but your sorry state only continued when you knocked your drink over with a badly aimed reach. It hit the table, the liquid splattering onto Connor’s white button up while the rest dripped helplessly down his form and onto his seat. You cursed, heat rising to your cheeks as the brunette calmly stood, and you rushed up to the bar to catch the towel that Jimmy wordlessly tossed your way-

Though the look he gave you wasn’t a pleased one.

You grabbed Connor by the hand, tugging him gently towards one of the nearby bathrooms, all the while mumbling apology after apology. Seemingly unfazed he followed you wordlessly, only kicking the door shut as you rushed to the sink. Half of the bulbs above the mirror barely worked, the graffiti tagged space mostly dark and smelling strongly of bleach- a strange reminder of your college escapades.

With a now lightly wet towel you moved to start dabbing at his shirt, absolutely refusing to look up as he naturally towered above you. You were panicking now, eyebrows scrunching up as you realized that your cleaning efforts were fruitless. 

...And it were moments like these that made you worry that he really was going to get tired of you. 

You, a human who plays with chemicals and hides in a lab. One who never sleeps and makes mistakes and loses her temper and cries and grossly yearns for so much and-

“Oh God, I’m making it worse. Connor, I’m so sorry I-”

A gentle grab of your wrist had your thought process and ministrations come to a sudden halt, causing the rag to drop unceremoniously to your feet. With the thrumming of your rapid heart beat and the sound of faint music coming through the door, you finally dared to look up. 

Connor was analyzing you, you were sure of it, the flashing of his blue LED combined with an intense expression solidifying your conclusion. In an instant he switched, the circle settling on honey as he looked at you with the same softness he had in your darkened apartment all those weeks ago. But he was still so quiet, so still, that you chose to speak up out of worry.

“...Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer the way he had when you first met him. 

He didn’t say anything at all.

Instead his free found its way to your neck. He moved slowly and carefully, as if to give you time to protest, fingertips momentarily backtracking to trace your jaw before gently tucking your hair behind your ear. It was intimate and lovely and you _melted_.

In that moment, in a gross, dimly lit bar bathroom, you realized that you loved him.

And you couldn’t help it, you laughed. A light laugh that served as a form of relief because you had finally, _finally_ stopped denying it. You slowly shifted so that your forehead came to a rest on his chest, and you mumbled quietly into the ruined cotton.

“I’ll have to buy you some new clothes.”

His retort to your statement came tumbling out of his mouth without even a pause, the teasing lilt to it undeniable.

“I’m sure there are other ways you can pay me back.”

You buried your face further into him, heat rising to your cheeks and your attempt to scold him absolutely meek. 

“Oh my God, _Connor_.”

And he laughed. It was a gentle and rare sound that you found you adored, and even as you relished in it, even as you watched the city lights wash over Connor's features in the cab ride home, as you placed a goodbye kiss to his cheek, you couldn’t help but remember how the hell you ended up in this situation in the first place:

Fuckin’ Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been a lot going on lately, and I've honestly found it hard to write. The love you all have given this story is something I'm crazy thankful for. ❤️
> 
> Also Hank is a sneaky bastard and I love him for it.
> 
> Also, ALSO- not sure if you all enjoy listening to music that goes along with this, but I listened to the one in the chapter summary, Reverie by Debussy, and Water Under the Bridge (Cover) by The Lone Bellow to crank this chapter out.


	7. To Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you.”
> 
> ― Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince

“Do you dream, Connor?”

Your voice, soft and tired, drifts over to him from across the lab. He can barely make out your expression, your attention focused on the chemical evidence you had just placed into the incubator, body unmoving as if concerned that the stationary tubes would get up and walk away on their own.

And perhaps his thought processes were muddled with concerns of getting your sleep-deprived form home, because he found that a strange sort of heaviness had settled upon him. It was a sudden remembrance of his past experiences and analysis of his current deficiencies all wrapped into one subdued reaction.

He still wasn’t sure as to why he had fallen into silence, because it wasn’t unusual for you to ask questions like that.

At the very beginning they used to throw him off, send his wiring into a slight tizzy… and that was when they were _simple_. That was when you had to teach him that when you asked him how he was doing you didn’t mean his functionality, that when you asked him his favorite color and he simply repeated yours back, you took the time to ask him if he really meant it.

Coincidentally, he did.

But that was then, and this was now. 

There is a familiar voice pushing at the back of his mind, and he knows that it is just a memory of what once was, but he doesn’t want to go back _there_. So instead he crosses the space that separates you two, runs his hand from your shoulder to your neck, and places a kiss to your forehead as you turn towards him.

You take in the affection easily, despite the fine line the two of you walk becoming more muddled each day, and Connor uses it as a means to ground himself. 

“Let’s get you home.”

The drive is quiet, but not in a strained fashion. He takes in the sounds of your fingers tapping idly on the car door and your random mumblings as you stared incredulously at your smartwatch as an indication that you aren’t angry with him. This was how you often acted, and it cooled down his concerns that you’d be frustrated with his avoidance.

Connor wanted to answer your question, he did, but he wasn’t sure how- at least, not yet.

He drops you off and you insist he just borrows your car instead of calling a cab, he can just pick you up in the morning, after all, and he obliges. The radio serves as a distraction for the remaining drive, but ultimately there is a strong tug in his memory files as soon as he pulls up to Hank’s home, and a voice ringing in his head as he unlocks the door.

_“And the forensic specialist… you’ve seemed to have made a connection with her, Connor.”_

A scowl falls upon his lips, but as he quietly makes his way to his room, stopping to greet Sumo and to confirm that Hank is asleep, detectable by the snoring coming from the main bedroom, he closes his door and settles onto his bed.

He has no regard for the fact that he is still in his work clothes, or that he could prevent this, and he instead chooses to close his eyes and let it play out.

_“She is...highly regarded in her field. She could be of use.”_

_Something about the way Connor spoke of you, the fact that he chose the route of justifying you for not who you are, but your skills, had irked him in that moment._

_“She could easily be replaced by a machine in seconds. She serves no purpose in your mission.”_

_“I don’t believe that, Amanda.”_

_Connor’s retort fell out of his mouth before he could even analyze the consequences, an action caused by some semblance of irritation._

_Amanda did not bother to turn around, instead remaining preoccupied with tending to the rose trellis before her. There is a tense silence that now covers the zen garden, the sounds that emulate the real world, like the chirping of birds and the light movement of the pond’s water, fading out to nothing._

_He watches, waits, for her response. But instead she reaches up to cut a rose off of its stem, and turns to face him, rolling the flower around her palm. Something dawns over him, causes his eyes to very briefly widen, and his body to become stiff._

_The flower is not its typical form, but is instead shaded to be your favorite color, which you had divulged to him just a few days after your first meeting._

_In that moment, Connor felt his first inkling of what could only be described as fear._

_Amanda examines it, and simply scoffs in amusement. Connor can only watch in a daze as she tosses it carelessly into the pond with a flick of her wrist._

_“Learn to change your perspective, Connor. You clearly have enough distractions.”_

The android opens his eyes with a start, and sits up in his bed, hands reaching up to sloppily rip his tie and jacket off, tossing them carelessly to the floor. He breathes heavily and stares at the wall across the way, a new found anger coursing through him.

CyberLife had controlled him for so long, had belittled the existence of many, and now he was free. Amanda was gone, his friends were safe and alive, he had a home, and he had _you_.

Why should he not be able to take back a simple graphic interface?

With defiance he straightens his back, leans against the headboard, and commands his programming to enter a space he hadn’t dared to go since the revolution.

He opens his eyes and expects to see the garden in its original, or even frozen state, but Connor sees none of that. His brows scrunch up in confusion as he takes in a familiar scene: the dog park he often takes Sumo to. It is bustling, as it usually is, with the faces of strangers he has managed to store in his memory bank. 

Disregarding them, Connor makes out a bench at the far end of the grassy space, a familiar figure occupying it, and the sense of tranquility that takes over him is almost instantaneous.

It is a natural movement, as natural as someone like him can be, when he moves forward to sit next to you, and you greet him with a smile. Wordlessly you lean into him, and he welcomes it, the both of you settling in quite easily.

As Connor exits the interface in the morning, he comes to the realization that it had now become some sort of representation of his daily life. It was no longer tainted, no longer out of his control, and though he was glad to find that conclusion, he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t really need it.

Connor would never dream like a human would, and that was fine. The closest action to such a thing represented what he already had- he didn’t need a technology based falsehood when his desires awaited him in real life.

And so he walks into your apartment just a few hours later, and it’s like he’s in his garden but it’s _not_. But he feels the same, he feels calm, and the way you turn to regard him from the kitchen, with a soft excitement, is just like the way you did on that bench.

Your voice drifts past the buzz of your tv and the footsteps of your neighbors, washing over him like a wave, ingraining itself in his circuitry like a new patch-

“Good morning, Connor.”

He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had parts of this chapter written for a while, and finally bringing together was just...😚


	8. To Realize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A heart's a heavy burden."  
> -Dianna Wynne Jones, Howl's Moving Castle
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: this chapter contains very mild violence and blood, as well as detailed descriptions of shock. It's nothing graphic, but if you are uncomfortable reading, please leave a comment and I'll be glad to summarize the chapter for you.

The harsh ringing of your phone cuts through your daily morning daze, foot tapping the break a little too aggressively as your car came to a halt at the red light. You fumble with the buttons on the dash to connect the call, wincing a bit as Hank’s gruff voice cuts off the radio.

“You on another case?”

“Oh, good morning to you too, Lieutenant.”

He scoffs, and you swear you hear Connor say something in the background, but your drive to the station keeps you from focusing on it further. 

“I only have interns out here at a red ice house, and I think some of this shit might be what’s leftover from the shipping raid. I’m sending you the address if you can get here.”

There is some more background noise, a chorus of voices and shifting of the phone, and you know that some sort of distraction has come into play. Regardless, you’re already pulling into a parking lot to prepare your reroute, but you still manage a retort once the sound has settled.

“You owe me at least a coffee, you know that, right?”

“I could make that happen, Doctor.”

You jolt, the sudden change of voice throwing you for quite the loop. But a smile tugs at your lips, and the moniker he refers to you by, only in the presence of others now, holds up the thin sense of professionalism between you two by a margin. “Not your coffee to owe, Connor, but I’ll take it.”

“You’re right. You still owe me a new shirt, if I recall correctly.”

There is an undeniable heat that rises to your cheeks, and as you play off his tease with an agreeable hum, you’re glad he’s not there to see it.

“I’ll be there in five. I’ll see you then.”

You hang up, and release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding- a reaction that occurred a little too often when Connor was involved.

The house is nondescript, barely outside of the city and worn down by aging and harsh winters. It’s on a street that the government refuses to touch, even though it’s for those who need it the most, and the thought has your lips tugging down into a frown. 

You duck under the ‘Do Not Cross’ tape that surrounds the yard, hand lifting in a small wave as Chris greets you from across the way, before returning to his conversation with another officer. There are two of your forensic interns flitting about, who you trust wholeheartedly, but you know by the looks on their faces upon your arrival that they are glad for the help. 

“Lieutenant Anderson told us not to handle any red ice traces- everything else should be done, DNA evidence, footprints on the stairs, we gathered some other chemical traces on the equipment as well…”

“Thank you both, really. I’ll handle the rest, okay?”

They nod, returning to their finals tasks of logging, and you divert your attention towards your own work. You focus on the kitchen counter, covered in broken glass and shattered equipment, and bits of red ice scattered about- no doubt a panicked attempt at covering things up before making a run for it. There are faint voices drifting down from the top floor, but you find yourself too preoccupied with the small crystal pinched between your fingers.

The light from the half curtained window shifts, and the ice conveys its true color- a faint purple, and your suspicions are confirmed. 

The hydrofluoric acid has reacted with the thirium to produce a much stronger, yet tainted and highly lethal product. It’s not what you wanted to find, and you can only hope that Connor hasn’t tried to analyze it himself.

There is a small  _ ‘thump’ _ down the hallway, and your brows furrow

“Connor?”

No response, but the chorus of voices continue upstairs, and you discard your work to follow the sound. 

There are small evidence markers littered on the hallway floor, and to your right is a closed door, the sound of footsteps and the screech of a window opening having you twist the knob handle with little thought.

But Connor, nor Hank, or even another officer awaited you.

There is instead a stranger desperately trying to escape the backroom through the window, and you find yourself too in shock to do anything when he turns around.

The look in his eyes is scared, animalistic, and you barely register the fact that there is a gun in his hand before it’s too late.

Pain blooms in your shoulder, causing you to stumble out into the hall, back unceremoniously slamming against the wall. Your hand instinctively comes up to press on the wound, and as you pull it back to examine the blood on your palm, the world begins to spin. Your breathing is becoming rapid, and the only thing you can hear is the pounding of your heart, and you barely realize that you’ve slumped to the floor, or the fact that Connor is now there with you.

His hands are pressing on your wound and muddled orders are spilling out of his mouth as he points to the window, and you’re trying to tell him that you’re  _ okay _ but your mouth refuses to work.

Your body is forcing you to go into shock and you're more annoyed at that than anything else.

Connor’s LED is red and he looks  _ scared _ and the only thing you can do is lift your hand to gently grasp his shirt and try to repeat the same mantra:

_ ‘I’m okay. I’m okay.’ _

But his expression doesn’t change. It’s  _ terrible _ and it’s  _ new _ and you know what is, and even as you are hoisted into an awaiting ambulance, you find yourself unable to stop replaying it.

It’s the same look you gave him when you picked him up after the shipping raid, hand covering your mouth in an attempt to stop a harsh sob from escaping you-

Fear. 

Fear of loss.

* * *

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To hold an interrogation, Lieutenant.”

Hank snorts, not from amusement, but from tired exasperation. He’s in a stand still with the android in a side hall of the DCPD, and neither of them are budging.

“Look, it’s a conflict of interest- and those little chips in your head know it is too. Reed’s already on it.”

“Lieutenant, I assure you that I hold no-“

The older man sneers, and takes a step forward. “No what, Connor?”

Hank was watching him for any sort of reaction, for his facade to crack under the pressure of his gaze. Connor kept his face straight, focused on his components to keep both himself and his LED calm-

But your blood is still on his shirt and you aren’t in your lab but a  _ hospital bed _ and there is a boiling anger that he doesn’t know whether to direct at the man in custody or  _ himself _ .

His hands begin to twitch at his sides and he can’t stop them.

Hank quickly zeroes in on the movement, and his expression changes into something more sympathetic.

“...She’s not just your work buddy, Connor. You know that. Hell, we all know that.”

Connor didn’t have the energy to refute that statement, nor any reason to, because he knows it’s the truth- you are far more than a colleague. Instead, his focus diverts to the floor, and he barely catches the car keys that Hank tosses his way.

“Go see her. I’ll clean up here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your love on this story- I'll never get over surpassing the 300 kudos mark, and I can't thank you enough for your patience on my wonky update schedule!


	9. To Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In my palm I can feel the echo of her pulse, standing in for the absence of mine."
> 
> -Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

“I’m fine. I promise.”

You say these words when he first comes to see you, you say them again in the car on the way home the next day, and in the quiet space of your apartment. It is said like a soft mantra that is falling on deaf ears, but you do it anyway.

You don’t know what else to do.

He hasn’t touched you once, and you don’t know if it’s because he’s angry or he’s afraid you’ll break, but you watch his hands fiddle with items in the kitchen to make you dinner and you wish they were on you instead. The silence is too heavy, even with the radio on, and it almost makes the pain in your shoulder throb harder.

Wordlessly you escape for a shower, only to reappear in the kitchen some time later to find Connor reading at the table, your food staying warmed on the stove. 

“I would suggest eating before taking your pain medication. It will help to prevent any nausea.”

You realize that you had been looking at him in silence, mind stuck in a stupor until his words knocked you awake enough to sharpen your vision. You couldn’t help the unrelated response that came tumbling out of your mouth- it was timid and breathy, and you winced at just the sound of it.

“Are you angry with me?”

The question was in itself dense, because you _know_ that you did nothing wrong, and you can explain that to him if needed, but you had no insight to if he even was irritated. Others had seen it, that you were sure of, but he had never been angry towards _you_. Concerned about your sleeping habits or chiding you for coming into work ill, but not a scowl was sent in your direction.

Thus far, you have had nothing to work off of but his silence.

“...I should’ve come downstairs to greet you.”

Connor’s voice is quiet, eyes diverted to the floor, and you suck in sharp breath at his remorseful tone. He stands, slowly, and you open your mouth to speak, but the severe expression that suddenly takes over his features cuts you off.

“You wouldn’t have been injured if I was with you.”

There is a slight shiver that runs up your spine at that, caused by the recollection that Connor is undeniably strong, but you push it down. 

“...Please don’t tell me you think this is your fault.”

He doesn’t respond, and the only thing that gives him away is the honey of his LED, standing out in opposition to his hardened exterior. It causes an ache to rise in your chest, and you want to step closer to him but you don’t, arms instead crossing over your chest as you look elsewhere. You speak, gently, and it barely rises above the sound of the heat turning on.

“I… do you remember that night when I took you to CyberLife?”

You assume that he’s nodded in confirmation, and continue on.

“I cried all the way there, you know. I kept thinking, what if he’s already gone? Would they send another with your name, and would that really be _you_? Would you recognize me?”

There is a rustling of clothing and you know he’s moved closer, but you still can’t face him. Not yet. 

Your fingers are tapping relentlessly on your arm, and you somehow work up enough courage to keep going. “I thought of the fact that I hadn’t taken enough pictures or that we never went to see that quartet or how I never… I never told you-”

You stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you take in a deep breath. You couldn’t go that far.

When your eyes open they lock with his, and you spill a part of your truth-

“I was terrified. Is that what you felt, too? When you saw me?”

“...Yes.”

The confession weighs heavily on you, sucking the air straight from your lungs and causing your arms to drop back down to your side. You wince, and you don’t know if it’s because of your injury or the realization that Connor was forced to experience a new sense of fear.

You barely register the fact that he is standing before you now, hand hovering in front of your shoulder as he looks to you for consent.

“May I?”

You nod, and his hand slips underneath the fabric of your shirt, pushing it aside to reveal the wound. And you know that he’s just examining it, checking on your healing process and confirming if you actually _are_ okay, or even using it as a means to diverge the conversation, but you cannot stop yourself from bringing your hand up to splay out on the front of his chest.

He freezes, attention now broken from the reddened and jagged circle on your skin.

His hand travels to rest on the side of your neck instead, and you find that just that small movement is enough to have your own temptations rise out of their hiding place.

You brush your lips against his. 

He doesn’t react, and you pull back to find that he looks almost lost, brows scrunching slightly together at your actions. Your hand is shaking and it comes up to cover your mouth, heart dropping in your chest at the realization of what you’ve just done.

“I’m so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have…”

You turn to leave, to retreat to the confines of your bedroom or even the car, _anywhere_ , but the hand that once rested on your neck has slipped down to capture your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

Connor says your name, gently, tugging lightly on your arm to have you turn back around. You do so, only to find that he is looking at you with such a soft expression, even when you’ve crossed a line that you shouldn’t have, and you nearly cry.

“Give me a moment, please.”

His LED is spinning in hues of blue, and his lips tilt up into a small smile. It is in the nearly excruciating seconds that he is watching you that you realize he’s downloading something, and in the next few that you realize it doesn’t matter.

His hands are on either side of your face and his lips are on yours- 

You are breathless and your movements are messy but his are _loving_ , and you can only cling to him tightly in an attempt to show him your own affections. 

And if, God forbid, anything ever happens to either of you, you won’t look upon what you didn’t do. You’ll remember this. You’ll remember the first time he smiled at you. You’ll remember dancing in your living room or light conversations in your lab-

He pulls away, and you try to bring him back, but he kindly stops you in your tracks.

“Your heart rate has become elevated, you should sit down. It could have negative effects on your recovery.”

The already present heat on your cheeks only worsens, and you swear that his smile only grows fonder at your embarrassed state.

“That’s _your_ fault.”

“I’ll refrain from showing larger displays of affection until you’re fully healed, then. It might be best for the both of us, as I haven’t finished my downloads.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he places a kiss to your forehead and you suddenly find yourself too tired to do so. 

But you’re content- more than that, really. You sit across from him at the kitchen table, watching his jaw move, taking in the words he spills from his lips, and you are enraptured. The both of you argue over who’s going to wash the dishes and you fight with yourself not to just tell him you love him when he ultimately wins.

You can only hope that, even if it’s in his own way, he feels the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took... so many drafts. As always, thank you all for reading.❤️


	10. To Celebrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s a Japanese phrase that I like: koi no yokan. It doesn’t mean love at first sight. It’s closer to love at second sight. It’s the feeling when you meet someone that you’re going to fall in love with them. Maybe you don’t love them right away, but it’s inevitable that you will.”
> 
> ― Nicola Yoon, The Sun Is Also a Star

“Do you love him, Markus?”

“Yes.”

There is no hesitation, no pause, it is a grand declaration as much as it is a simple statement of fact. Connor admires it, mulls over it, recalls the way Simon’s hand had squeezed the shoulder of the man before him before his departure just moments prior. It was a silent form of affection, a brief touch that could’ve gone unnoticed by many.

A few beats of silence pass, and Connor tries to fill it by making another play in the chess game before them, but his thoughts have only provided a negative influence on the movement of his hands. Markus easily, and swiftly, uses his pawn to take out his rook.

“Connor.”

He finds that only a light hum of acknowledgment can pass his lips. Connor mulls over what he really wants to ask, rolls it around on his tongue and tries to predict the outcome- nothing really comes of it.

He’s not uncomfortable in this space, rather he’s settled on the realization that he’s _welcomed_. Finding himself in the Manfred residence on a nondescript evening is a rare, yet predictable occurrence. A passing chance to see the people who he once held a weapon to. His friends.

Connor makes another move, this one more successful.

“...How did you know?”

Markus leans back into his chair, eyebrows scrunched together for just a moment before he lets out a nearly amused sounding sigh. His lips tilt up into a small smile.

“It… it wasn’t some warning flash across my systems. I don’t think that I knew _what_ it was, but I knew that I had an innate inclination to be closer to him, and that grew. It bloomed during monotonous things and became stronger during the unpredictable.”

He lets out a light laugh, two-toned eyes glinting in the low light. 

“I found that love was the closest infirmity I could diagnose myself with.”

Connor is silent, listening intently, trying to process an emotional concept that he is _just_ brushing his fingertips against. He understands but he _doesn’t_. 

Markus leans forward a bit in his seat, elbows on his knees as he looks out the window and into the back garden. He addresses Connor once more, but he doesn’t look at him, attention still trained on the cold environment that was separated only by thin glass. 

“Connor, I don’t believe that this was something we were made to do. I think we’re broken, in that way.”

The brunette instinctually stiffens, almost like he’s being scolded.

“...Do you find it to be a negative thing?”

A sound of amusement passes through Markus’ lips, before his expression settles into something a bit more serious. It’s one of resignation, but it’s not regretful.

It’s a serene form of acceptance.

“No. It’s a fault that I am more than happy to carry.”

* * *

“Hey, you ready?”

Connor’s attention, once held by the recollection of the conversation he had a few days ago, is broken by the feeling of your hand settling gently on his shoulder. He hears your question, but it takes him a moment, his own hand sliding up to brush gently against yours. A light squeeze and he’s grounded back into the here and now.

“We’re going to Jimmy’s, I’m assuming?”

He looks up at you from the seat at his desk, watching as your face lights up with a bit of excitement at the chance to separate yourself from the workplace. He knows that you love your job, but the tiredness that often hangs around you does not go unnoticed by him.

He always wished he could get you to sleep more.

“Yep! Though it looks like we’ll be the last to arrive.”

Connor hadn’t even noticed, but he looks around to find that most of the night shift had already come in, and Hank had already gone. He scrunches his brow, barely recalling the fact that the lieutenant had mumbled something about getting his muffler fixed before leaving early. It’s odd, but not quite out of the ordinary, and so he continues on with gathering his things without question.

But in the short cab ride over, he notices that you’re slightly fidgety, fingers tapping lightly on the surface of the seat, and he can’t find a reasoning as to _why_. Your heart rate is slightly elevated as well, he notices, and concern settles over him.

“Is your shoulder bothering you?”

You hum, attention turning away from the window as you shift to face him. 

“No, I’m okay.” 

He nods, slowly, and reaches out to lift your hand to his lips. It’s brief, but intimate, and he finds slight amusement in the way your face flushes at the contact. It’s an expression he’s always been fond of, and he finds himself in a place of privilege to be able to see it more frequently.

The android decides to not press any further, finding himself not really having the chance to do so when you arrive at your destination just a few seconds later. He tries to hold the bar's door open for you, he really does, but you're insistent that he goes in first, hands gently reaching out to playfully push him through the threshold.

“ **Happy Birthday!** ”

Brown eyes swept the bar, widening a bit in shock when they find most of his colleagues shouting and jammed into the corner. Chris and Tina are dotting party hats and even Reed is obnoxiously blowing into some sort of party horn, and a birthday banner hangs right above the booth. Even Hank, despite his rough exterior, is clearly entertained.

He doesn’t quite know what to do, words failing on his tongue as you guide him forward. But when he reaches the table, his lips tilt up into a smile.

“Thank you.”

Hank reaches over to clap him on the back and it becomes an absolute blur from there. There’s singing and drinking and a cake amusingly marked with a _‘1’_ that he can’t even eat, but he doesn’t mind. There’s a very intense competition between you and Reed at the arcade game in the back that ensues, and Connor can’t help but let out a small laugh when you ultimately win.

He doesn’t quite know when, but he sees you take a small envelope from Hank out of the corner of his eye, and you playfully look over at Connor to wave him outside.

The stillness and encroaching cold that awaited the two of you out front is a bit jarring, and your hand is shaking a bit when you hand him the card. Connor reaches out gingerly to take it and the smile on your face becomes almost bashful.

“Go ahead, open it.”

Folded carefully and protected by the harder exterior of a typical birthday card are various small letters and photos. Kara, Luther, Alice… Markus, Josh, Simon, and even North have written individual snippets and sent along group photos. 

“Hank helped, and did most of the work, really, I just came up with the idea.”

A small laugh passes between your lips, but you begin to fidget again when you watch Connor carefully seal everything back up.

“I...I hope this isn’t all too much. I know it’s new and I know… I don’t want this to be overwhelming for you. So next year, we don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

That affirmation slips out of him quickly, confidently, and it causes a smile to return to your features.

His free hand reaches up to rest tenderly on the back of your neck, and he kisses you. He’s lost count of the times he’s done this, whether it’s at the end of the night or in the car, or in a quiet corner of the lab, playfully away from the cameras that be. He finds that he never gets tired of it.

Will he ever get enough?

Connor breaks away to find that small, scattered snowflakes are falling now, visible in the neon lighting from the bar window. He finds that your eyes are shining and your cheeks are flushed from the cold and you look absolutely _beautiful_.

You reach out to adjust his tie, snowflakes decorating your hair and eyelashes as you do so, and he’s enraptured.

“Happy Birthday, Connor.”

You whisper those words and there is an undeniable pull that he feels. Perhaps it truly is a malfunction, in the scheme of all things. A misplaced wire or nanochip, that has allowed him and countless others to experience what his kind shouldn’t.

And he knows, then, standing outside in the beginnings of Detroit’s winter-

He knows he that loves you.

And it is a malfunction that he is fortunate to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient and kind! I'm so sorry for the hiatus, so many things have been going on but I've finally had some time to sit down and crank this out.
> 
> Again, I appreciate you all so much! 💕


	11. To Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you ready for the motion  
> Swaying, devotion in our wake?"
> 
> -Dustin Tebbutt, 'Give Me Tonight'
> 
> (this chapter is, well, smutty)

You don’t quite know how you got here, gently pressed against the living room wall with familiar lips traversing your exposed skin.

Perhaps it was a combination of hours of wandering hands at the concert hall and the donning of rare formal wear, or something just a little more primal.

 _God_ , he looked good.

You struggle to suppress a moan when his attention turns to the pulse in your neck, your hands pausing momentarily in their venture to undo his tie.

His suit jacket hits the floor.

A hand, warm and welcomed, makes its way up the slit in your dress to give a gentle squeeze to your thigh. You keen, melting into his touch, hands scrabbling along his body for purchase-

A predictable warmth begins pooling in your belly in anticipation, and you cannot help it when you say his name like that.

“ _Connor_.”

Desperate, loving, _wanting_ \- you have called his name in so many ways before, but this was uncharted and new for the both of you. It causes him to stop dead in his tracks, his hands slipping off of you as he backs away, and there is a sense of worry that crawls up your spine. He’s disheveled and you know you are much, much worse.

“We don’t…”

You brace yourself, taking in a deeper breath to steady your broken voice. “We don’t have to do this, Connor. It’s okay, I promise-”

And you mean it, you do, but he says your name softly, and it has you falling silent. 

“I… was not created with the same functionality as HR400 models.”

It takes you a few seconds, head tilting in confusion before his confession hits you like a truck. 

Oh, _oh_.

His LED is flashing gold and he almost looks… disheartened, and you feel _terrible_. “Connor, I don’t… I don’t care.”

And it’s true, you don’t. After a moment of thought, your lips tilt up into a small smile, and you reach out to thread your fingers with his, just to bring him a little bit closer.

“I could kiss you for the rest of my life, and I’d be happy to even do that… and if you work me up enough, I’ll just… take care of it myself.”

You shrug and you swear that he blushes, but perhaps the low-light has allowed your imagination to run amok, because it disappears just a second later. His expression changes, morphs into something kind of smug, and you’re against the wall again. He kisses you on your forehead, your temple, affection traveling down to your jaw, and stops.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t help.”

A shiver runs up your spine at that, and suddenly you’re the one feeling demure. You nod, slowly, and you don’t register that he’s picking you up until your feet aren’t touching the ground, a yelp leaving you as you instinctually wrap your arms around his neck. 

He lets out a light laugh, depositing you gently on your bed, and in a bout of mischief you pull him down with you.

You manage to unbutton his shirt between kisses, and your dress is only haphazardly covering you, thin straps pulled down long ago to reveal your bra. For a moment, you both stop to admire the shape of the other-

CyberLife really gave him a six pack for no reason, and Connor likes lace. Noted.

Brown eyes flicker back to connect with yours, causing an anticipating warmth to rise again, and he’s on you in an instant. It’s messy and desperate, and at one point you both bump noses and laugh, but his hand eventually sneaks its way up your thighs to experimentally press on your core. You say his name, _again_ , and you suppose that it serves as some sort of motivation.

He’s palming you through the thin cloth of your panties and you feel like you’re gonna _lose it_. You whine, and only after a small buck of your hips does he decide to stop moving so slowly. 

The only barrier preventing him from full access to you is pushed to the side and when his finger runs through your already soaked folds, you flush. Turning your neck to the side, you look elsewhere, anywhere but at him. The realization that you’re underneath your best friend and co-worker and you are _exposed_ hits you like a truck.

Connor’s thumb presses gently on your clit and you jolt. “Are you okay?”

Oh, _God._ He sounds actually worried, but even with that expression he looks so, so good.

“I’m more than okay, but Connor if you don’t hurry up-”

He muffles your voice with a kiss, lips tilted up into an obvious smile when he does so. The brunette easily slides a finger into your entrance, still paying attention to your clit with his thumb, and you moan into his mouth. You tug at his hair, the edges of his opened shirt, anything, and after a few moments of working you, he adds another finger.

The noise that falls from your lips is absolutely _lewd._

It doesn’t take much, but his motions turn into that of a scissor and you begin to contract around him, causing the feeling of the ever tightening band in your belly to finally snap. You call out his name, once, twice, but Connor doesn’t let up, continuing his movements in a successful effort to extend your orgasm, and you are left spent.

He leans back and for one embarrassing second you think he’s going to bring his fingers to his lips… _no, don’t-_

He wipes them on his shirt, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Did you find that satisfactory, Doctor?”

Connor asks the question with an innocence that is surely false, detectable by the gleam in his eyes, and any heat that was already present on your face only gets worse. You can only nod, a whisper of a _‘yes’_ passing through your lips, and reach out to bring him closer. He is pliable under your fingertips, and accepts the affection.

You mouth it into the side of his neck, no sound behind it, a gentle declaration of those three words pressed against skin:

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* 
> 
> yeah


	12. To Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you. Without end."  
> -Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

The room is enveloped in the darkness of early morning, its light shuttered by the clouds that pour a steady beat of rain on the window. 

It’s a precious sliver of time, an environment that is warm but will ultimately melt upon leaving, and Connor can’t quite fathom how he got here. Rather, he can’t comprehend the psychological milestones that put him here, not his feet carrying him from one place to the next, not an order that would send him in one direction, but how he’s pursued this and been _welcomed_.

Brown eyes watch the spinning of the blades on the ceiling fan, lost in thought.

He hears the shifting of sheets, a gentle sigh, and his attention turns to the body next to him.

You’re facing him now, still fast asleep, but your hand has shot out to rest in the empty space between you both. Searching, he thinks, and his lips tilt up into a small smile at the idea.

But he doesn’t reach out, not yet.

Instead, Connor uses the time to take note of what he can’t see during the commotions of the day. You’re alluring in whatever you do, in processing evidence with scrunched brows or washing the dishes or laughing, or defending your passions with such dedicated rigor. Even when simply sleeping, though you still don’t do that very often.

In this moment, he can see the way your lashes adorn your eyelids, how your lips have settled into an expression of content, of the little marks on your skin, of the hair on your head that has become slightly wild during the night. His eyes wander to take in the way the sheets cling to your shape, to the body that carries a blood so opposite to his very own. 

He reaches out to bring you closer to him, gentle and slow so as not to wake you, and relishes in the way your body so easily slots with his. Your head is tucked under his chin, legs tangled together, and his hand is holding yours to his chest in a selfish gain to get just a little more of your warmth.

He’ll do anything, to fight the cold.

Connor mulls over it, recalls why, remembers crawling on hand and foot through the icy environment of his own circuitry to solidify his own deviation, to regain control. A lifetime ago, it feels like.

He remembers thinking of Hank and Sumo- would they be okay? Markus, Simon, Josh, and North… would they be safe and free to live life as they should? Would they be able to kill him, if he doesn’t make it through this?

He had placed his hand on that exit scanner and thought of you, the woman in the lab who was so strangely patient and kind to him in any interaction- the one who’s depiction of a rose now lay long frozen in the pond behind him.

At that moment, he had wished only for more time.

“...Connor?”

Your voice is soft and gentle, broken slightly from sleep, but it snaps him out of his reverie in an instant. He hadn’t even realized that he had lifted your hand, cradling it in his own as he tapped a calming beat on your knuckles, only stopping to connect his eyes with yours. There is a small amount of worry carried across your features, and the only thing he can think to do is apologize.

You only shake your head, as best as you can pressed against him like this, and slowly maneuver your hand out of his hold. It travels up his chest and comes to a rest on his cheek, and a contented sigh escapes him.

“Everything okay?”

 _More than okay_ , he thinks. But his words ultimately fail him, and he instead shifts slightly to plant a kiss to your palm- and that doesn’t feel like _enough_. He moves his lips up, up, leaving trails of his affection as he gently twists to hover over you. He relishes in the way your heartbeat quickens when he moves from your shoulder to your neck, takes it in like his own, memorizes it.

When Connor pauses his endeavor and leans back to face you, he feels a sudden shift within himself.

Is this truly it, he wonders? 

There is an undeniable smile that tugs at his lips, a shine in his eyes when your soft gaze stays with his.

He had for so long looked for a definition, a diagnosis. How much time has he wasted, then, looking for a string of words that didn’t exist? How long has he been tied to you, not realizing that you are the answer? 

Love is not in requirement of a definition, but rather an experience, and are you not the very embodiment of such a phenomenon? 

His declaration spills from his lips before he can stop it, words foreign on his tongue but sweet in nature-

“I love you.”

Ardently and fully he _loves_ you with every ounce that his being will allow- so far from a fabrication that it almost overwhelms him.

For the briefest of seconds there is silence, gently filled by the rain on the window, and Connor watches as your face contorts into something of disbelief. Your hand travels up to rest on his cheek, and your words come out breathy, like a broken whisper.

“...I love you too, Connor.”

The both of you became tangled almost in an instant, wandering lips and hands and affirmations pouring like water.

Connor tastes freedom and affection on your skin, notes that in this light and in these sheets he feels home-

He feels love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally cannot express how kind you all have been about this little story. I hope, in some ways, it brought all of you a little joy.
> 
> Thank you for all of your support.❤️


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